


blossoms in the water (where my heart longs to be)

by coffeecrowns



Series: bones in the ocean [4]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Canon Asexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Caretaking, Chronic Pain, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family, Zolf's -1 charisma out in full force, cel and carter are adhd icons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecrowns/pseuds/coffeecrowns
Summary: Zolf's legs are causing problems. Fortunately, Cel!
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: bones in the ocean [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946710
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73
Collections: When In Rome Secret Santa 2020





	blossoms in the water (where my heart longs to be)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makesometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Zoe!! I so enjoy sharing this wonderful and silly discord server with you. I went with some very soft Zoscar in a 'verse I know you like with a heavy amount of soft found family. I hope you enjoy it! <3

Zolf keeps taking care of him. Wilde isn’t sure how to handle it, but the dwarf puts his hand on Wilde’s shoulder sometimes and it makes him feel like the world is going to be okay. Sometimes Wilde will trek down to the kitchen and sit at the small table there to write letters to Curie, or go over notes and documents. He likes to sit in the space Zolf has claimed. Zolf wears the ring Wilde gave him around his beard everyday. Zolf likes it, he tells himself. Zolf hasn’t used it to pay for groceries or a new jacket or anything - even though it’s a normal part of commerce here. It soothes some part of him, knowing he’s done this right. Zolf, for his part, will slide plates of small finger foods over to Wilde at various times, or when Wilde starts getting restless, have him come stir something while Zolf shows off his impressive knife skills taking apart vegetables Wilde doesn’t even always know the names of. 

So Wilde does as Zolf tells him and looks for moments to pay it back. He isn't scared of not reciprocating Zolf’s kindness, but he wants Zolf to feel as cared for and safe as Wilde feels. And so when he notices Zolf coming to join him at the little kitchen table more and more, and rubbing at the stumps that feed into his prosthetics, he doesn’t take “It’s nothing, Wilde,” for an answer. In his defense, he’s never taken “It’s nothing, Wilde,” as a response. Zolf looks at him suspiciously when he replies with “Alright, Mr. Smith,” wearing a small grin. Judging by the dwarf’s sigh, Zolf knows Wilde is going to do something. He closes his eyes and places his hands on the table between them, and just breathes while flexing his hands. Zolf did this a lot, back when they were traveling all the time, when they were finishing twenty hour days and the pain made it so he could barely speak. 

Back then, in the dark of whatever hiding spot they’d eked out, Wilde would massage Zolf’s hands. He knows what they feel like, the old calluses, the slightly swollen knuckles, and the surprising smoothness of Zolf’s fingernails. He knows what it feels like to have all the ligaments relax after long quiet minutes in the dark. Oscar wants to reach out across the table and take those familiar hands into his own. It’s too much, somehow, to see them and to touch. Like it would break something between them. Trapped in the inn, in constant rain as they figure out their next move, it feels like they’re winding up too much tension. So Wilde doesn’t touch Zolf, and he sits with Zolf’s casual trust, and when Zolf asks if he can take the pan out of the oven, he smiles only once his back is turned and Zolf can’t see it. 

And once he decides on his plan of action, it’s easy to put into motion. Oscar Wilde was very good at his job. The trek to the nearby village would be nice, he’s pretty sure, if it hadn’t been raining nonstop for months. Something about it makes him homesick, how back in Ireland it rained every day of summer around four in the afternoon and it wasn’t anywhere near this bad. Not when it was expected and warm. He shivers to himself, wrapped in a jacket, and hurries along, hoping to stake out the mechanic the innkeeper told him about. 

  
  


If Zolf was in any less pain, he would kill Oscar Wilde. He almost broke when Wilde offered to bring the engineer by the inn, but he won’t put this place at risk. Not when they’ve made it into a little home. Wilde stands in front of the oven while Zolf is baking some salmon, which is fighting dirty, and refuses to move until Zolf agrees to go. It’s very hard to make a convincing argument when Zolf is in so much pain at the end of his days now that it’s hard to focus. 

“It’s more of a liability if you stop being able to walk than to bring them in to help you!” WIlde all but shouts. “Gods, Zolf, save taking the hits for missions!” Wilde is wielding the large fork Zolf has been using to check the fish as it cooks and wants to limit the possibility of half cooked fish juice getting splashed around the room. That’s all. 

“Fine,” he replies. 

So instead he tredges with Wilde through the rain, early in the morning, before he’s gotten used to the ache in his legs but before it becomes unbearable. It’s not like Zolf is unused to being disabled. He only had the one leg for plenty of his adult life. This is his normal. Except he used to be able to take his prosthetic off and rely on a cane when it got to be too much. He’s got less options for mobility aids now, and it’s frustrating. There was nothing wrong with his other leg. It’s not fair, and his life isn’t fair, but he wants to tear that stupid Mr. Ceiling apart all over again from taking this from him. 

If he starts thinking about how things are unfair, he’s going to lose it. And he’s an adult. He’s fine. He slowly lets out a breath, and even though there’s no way Wilde should be able to hear him over the endless rain, the man holds out a hand. Zolf takes it. He hopes it isn’t pity, because he likes it so damn much. He likes Wilde’s hand in his own, likes the warmth and strength deep in Oscar’s long fingers. It’s nice to have the distraction from it all. He squeezes Oscar’s hand, just once, trying to convey  _ thanks  _ and  _ I’m sorry  _ and  _ you are the only reason I can do this _ and all the other things he doesn’t quite have the words for. Oscar squeezes back. 

Of course, when they reach the village, Wilde reveals that he hasn’t actually met the mechanic, that he’s just been stalking them. Zolf wishes that this level of caution wasn’t well earned. It’s moments like these that Zolf wants to mutter a small prayer, hoping for  _ someone’s _ forgiveness for all the terrible and invasive things they’ve done to survive. 

The mechanic, and apparently engineer, alchemist, and all around genius, Cel, answers the door, and Wilde doesn’t start begging though it’s a near thing, but Zolf is exhausted and can’t bring himself to interrupt. Even when Wilde says, “we can pay” and gestures to the large ring and stone on Zolf’s beard. It takes Zolf longer than he’s proud to admit to remember that Wilde doesn’t know that they’re engaged, that this is just a way of indicating that they have some level of wealth, that this isn’t his husband. The mechanic gives Zolf a very specific look, as if they can understand his thoughts. Still he’s in too much pain to be standing for much longer, so he goes in, and against everything, hopes for the best. 

Cel has never been the kind of person to demand payment that can’t be afforded. The way the human stalked them for nearly a week, and offered up his partner's engagement bead in exchange for repair of the dwarfs legs was heartbreaking. They’ve clearly been through it, and Cel finds it impossible not to care about them immediately. Especially since the only payment they would want would be to take notes about the dwarf’s legs. They’re fascinating, it’s tech Cel hasn’t seen before and that’s worth a lot. 

There’s a lot of bad in the world, and it’s obvious even to them that this couple has seen more than their share. So Cel tempers themself best they can, and works on being as gentle as possible. The dwarf, Zolf, almost bolts when Cel asks if they can take notes on his legs. 

“Hey, I don’t have to. I’ve just never seen anything like these and I think if I learn I can use it to help people. I won’t use it against you. But I don’t have to.” They breath as slowly as they can. Yes, they are curious, and yes that can get the better of them, but they have ethics! Zolf seems unfamiliar with the concept and it makes them want to harm whoever he’s previous techs had been. 

“Whatever. It’s not like I know how they work.” He mutters, which only upsets Cel more. 

“I can explain to you whatever I figure out? So if you need help from other people you don’t have to just go on their word alone.” Knowledge is power, and not knowing how part of your own damn body works is a fast track to losing agency over it, and Cel takes another deep breath because this is so much worse than they thought and they would really like to help Zolf. 

“That would be nice,” Zolf says, noncommittal. 

“Is your fiancé going to keep stalking me after this?”

“He’s not my fiancé.”

“No? I’m sorry, I must be out of date on my dwarven customs, that’s embarrassing-”

“No, you aren’t out of date. He just. Doesn’t know. What it’s supposed to mean.” 

“Right,” Cel tries to keep their voice even, even as the silence becomes awkward enough for them to notice it. They do not know how to handle delicate and complicated situations like that. They resign to continue their work in silence, which is a shame because Zolf doesn’t make a great first impression, but seems like a genuine dude. Cel doesn’t tend to make good first impressions either. They aren’t a hypocrite. 

“He was stalking you?” Zolf asks, as if suddenly remembering. 

“Just a little bit. Keeping tabs on me for the last week or so. He’s quite good! I just have a bit of startle reflex and I don’t want to accidentally hurt him. I also am not the biggest fan of surveillance, you know?” 

“Gods, Wilde,” Zolf mutters. “I’m sorry. It’s been a weird year. But I’ll talk to him about it.” 

“Thanks Zolf. I appreciate that.” Zolf gives them just a hint of a smile, and  _ oh no _ . Zolf’s little smile lights up his tired eyes. He looks at them with no small amount of force, like he’s trying to figure them out and likes what he sees. Cel gives a much more shy grin back. Some of their professionalism is slipping, but attraction hits them out of the blue so rarely. 

“You’re something else, Mx. Sidebottom,” he eventually says. 

“So are you, Mr. Smith,” they reply. They really shouldn’t be flirting with him, he’s not married but he’s not not married either, and they don’t know what exactly he and Wilde have going on. There’s too many unknowns and it seems like a delicate equation. Unfortunately, after looking over all the mechanisms in Zolf legs, they know this isn’t going to be a short job. They’re going to have to get involved. 

“Well, the good news is that I can fix what’s wrong with your prosthetics. The bad news is the legs are going to have to come off, probably for several days.”

Zolf sighs slightly, and breathes out a curse. Cel tenses just a touch. 

“I’m sorry,” they say. 

“It’s not your fault,” Zolf starts, then closes his jaw so tightly that it looks like it must hurt. 

“You have other options. There’s other mechanics that might have better resources over in Hiroshima? If you don’t want to take them off at all, I can load you up with pain killing potions, but it’s not a great option if the core issue is fixable. I can give you some painkillers now, actually, you might as well be comfortable if you can.” The stand and go over to the cabinet where they keep all their healing potions. It’s very well stocked. They grab three vials, and hand them to Zolf who doesn’t take even one but puts them in his jacket. 

“The other option is I can come work wherever you’re staying? It’s your space that way, which takes some of the unknowns out of the situation?” Zolf looks over his legs, suddenly seeming so very small. 

“Alright,” he says after a long moment. “I’ll take you up on the housecall, Mx. Sidebottom.” And if they weren’t fucked before, the wry little smile in his voice would have damned them anyways. 

Which of course means that the human not-husband comes back a few minutes later after they get a plan mostly sorted. 

“Hey Wilde,” Zolf greets, and Cel is pretty sure if they set off an explosion Wilde still wouldn’t take his eyes off Zolf. Once Zolf is no longer on his own he takes one of the pain potions, and something knotted in their chest soothes to see some of the tension ease from him. They look over at Wilde, who also seems to be relaxing as the muscles in Zolf’s face adopted a content little smile. 

Things move fairly quickly after that. Two more impossibly handsome men arrive to help with the transport of their tools and everything. Barnes has just enough hair to tie back but some of it falls in his face. It’s distracting. Carter is sweet, and reminds them a lot of themself when they were younger. And Cel has just agreed to stay with them for a week. 

They are, in fact, screwed. 

Oscar does not feel jealous of Cel for the way Zolf just, lets them help him. There’s a part of him that feels like he should be, but he just can’t be. Cel is a vetted expert in something Zolf needs to know about. This is good. 

It is, in fact, good. Cel has been good for everyone. They spend a lot of time working in a backroom that was once some sort of stable space. Zolf, without mobility aids, spends his time in Cel’s makeshift workshop. Mostly he reads, but sometimes Wilde checks in and Zolf has ink stains on his fingers, and Wilde is missing a pen. Zolf can have whatever he needs from him, but he’s pretty sure Carter stole it on Zolf’s behalf. 

Carter is the primary suspect, because he also spends a lot of time with Cel in the workroom. With Cel, specifically, because Zolf mostly seems to be pretending that he could walk if he wanted to, he’s just choosing to eat everyone else's terrible cooking and sit mostly in one spot. Carter has taken to Cel like a duck to water. Cel just puts him to work, and Carter doesn’t mess around. Out of professional curiosity, he wants to know what Cel knows that he doesn’t, but that’s obviously a very long list. 

On the third day, Wilde comes in with sandwiches, and Barnes is playing cards with Zolf. Carter isn’t playing, but sitting at the table, doing something with what looks to be eight thousand little metal parts. Zolf and Barnes are using a pile of obvious rejects as chips. Cel is tinkering with a metal ankle. Sometimes, Carter will look at Barnes’s hand and wink obnoxiously at Cel, who will return the gesture. 

They look happy. These people who he works so hard to keep safe, who he sends out on dangerous missions because he thinks they might matter against the end of the world. These people he loves, and he’s willing to admit that to himself, all of them comfortable in a glowing room. The rain doesn’t sound oppressive like it usually does, but makes it feel comfortable. He loves them, and he’s grateful to Cel in ways he doesn’t know how to process. 

“Deal me in?” He asks, offering food as his buy in. All four of them turn their attention to him, and it’s a little overpowering. Zolf’s face lights up, eyes glowing like the gem on his beard. It’s not a detail he’s been able to see before, but in contrast, he feels so stupid with obvious it is. The way Zolf looks at him is  _ different _ , and well, add that to the list of things he doesn’t know what to do with. 

“Oh, sandwiches!” Carter says, fortunately, taking on the attention as his project clinks softly as he places it down. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wilde,” Cel says, in that earnest voice of theirs that seems surprised whenever someone does something kind. It’s been one of the highlights of his days, hearing it when he brings them food. 

“Cheers, Wilde,” Zolf says, raising a sandwich half like a toast. 

They do in fact, deal him in. He has no idea if he plays well. 

Zolf was expecting misery. The two previous experiences he has of not having prosthetics is in the immediate aftermath of Mr. Ceiling and after his mental breakdown and subsequent loss of faith. He tries to distract himself, but there is only so much Harrison Campbell can do. He writes, because he does write sometimes, letters he doesn’t intend to send to people he’s lost. He knows he’ll see them again, he knows death isn’t the end. But that doesn’t change the fact he can’t just tell Feryn or Sasha or Hamid about the absolute nonsense his life has become. So he writes until he’s out of words, which seems pathetically little. 

And then he's in a shit mood and helpless and out of things to do. Which has never been a good recipe for him. Since he literally can’t go hole up in his room, he ends up engaging with Cel. They’re a lot of fun, telling unbelievable stories of the world outside Meritocratic control. They can explain all the things they’re doing, with how the magic intertwines with the metal. It’s less horrifying, knowing that he’s going to be reliant on them when Cel smiles like that while they explain. He even has fun, teasing Wilde when he brings food, playing cards, or even just talking. 

He can count the number of times he’s been both vulnerable and safe on one hand, and being  _ happy  _ has historically been out of the question. So when the chaos quiets into Barnes crocheting quietly, Carter and Cel hard at work, he sinks into meditation, because it’s good for him. And it’s easy to think about hope when he’s surrounded by this, this collection of people he’s already starting to consider his own. 

He dozes off while meditating, which he hasn’t done since before everything with Poseidon, back when he felt safe in the idea of that Salt Water Bastard, on a boat of all things. There’s nothing he can do, but there’s also nothing he has to do. Cel is working on his legs, and everyone else is doing what needs to be done. So he falls asleep, where the late afternoon sun strains through the rain clouds, while it pours against the windows, and Cel’s small flurry of movement lulling him into rest. 

When he wakes up, it’s darker and quiet, his neck cramps something awful, and something smells absolutely amazing. He looks over, and there’s Oscar, holding a plate with two slices of pie. 

“I’ve missed sharing dinners with you,” Oscar says, shyly, if that’s a word that can be used for Oscar Wilde, and it’s just like nights months and months ago, when his hair was shorter and his scar fresher. 

“Pass me a fork then,” Zolf replies, because he’s just woken up, and then stumbles over the words, “Me too. I missed you too.” Oscar passes him a fork, and places the plate on the small side table, and after a moment, joins Zolf on the couch. It’s more of a loveseat, and there isn’t really room for them both. Zolf is pressed against Oscar’s side, and it’s not just because his sense of gravity is off. 

“Where’s everyone else, then?” Zolf asks. 

“Eating, as well. Barnes is watching over them. Cel and Carter are exhausted, but Cel figures they’ll be finished tomorrow, just wants to make sure their eyes are well rested when they hook you up.” 

Zolf narrows his eyes, and turns just enough to see the trace of realization on Oscar’s face.

“Was that a fishing pun?” 

“I do believe it was,” Oscar seems surprised, and Zolf is as well. It’s been a long while since he’s heard one from the man he loves. Something warm lights up within his chest. 

“It was _terrible_ ,” Zolf adds, but he’s smiling, despite himself. 

“It really was!” Oscar agrees, nodding and grinning. And then he’s giggling, and Zolf is laughing, and it’s all so surreal and ridiculous, and Oscar tries to steady himself with a hand on Zolf’s shoulder. They’re so close and Zolf  _ wants- _

He puts a hand on Oscar’s chest, and it could just be his own attempt at stabilizing himself, but he looks in Oscar’s eyes so the man will know that it’s not. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” he starts, and he’s read enough Harrison Campbel to know how this is supposed to go, but no one has written novels about how to  _ think _ while looking in Oscar’s damn eyes. 

“Oscar, I-” he tries again, and falls into a long silence again as Oscar slowly moves his hand up to cup Zolf’s face. 

“You?” Oscar prompts. 

“You,” Zolf confirms, and closes his eyes and leans forwards, and somehow meets Oscar’s lips. 

It’s not an earth shattering kiss. Oscar’s lips are chapped and bitten, Zolf hasn’t kissed anyone in a long minute. It changes less than it maybe should. But it’s nice. It’s like any other physical contact with Oscar, where it’s a little bit terrifying until it just feels like coming home. He likes it. He likes it a lot. He likes the way Oscar’s hand drifts from his cheek to his hair, and he likes the slightly stunned look on the man’s face when they part. His own hand is still holding tightly to the front of Oscar’s shirt, and he can’t make himself feel bad about it. 

“Right,” he says, and Oscar’s blissful little smile only grows. 

“Quite,” Oscar replies, grinning. 

“Arse,” Zolf rolls his eyes. He means it to be, “I love you,” and “I couldn’t do this without you,” and “please don’t stop touching me.” And Oscar understands, somehow. 

And that’s really all there is to it. 

Cel doesn’t have spectacular perception or anything, but even they can tell something has changed the next morning. For one, Wilde carries Zolf into the workshop, and even when Zolf rolls his eyes at how softly the human puts him down on the couch, the look of fondness is impossible to miss. They nudge Carter just a touch, who’s occupied in his part of the final touches on Zolf’s legs. Carter looks at them with wide eyes, which is a gesture they return. 

Wilde goes as far to press a kiss to Zolf’s forehead, and the dwarf’s eyes close softly at that. Cel feels like they are intruding all of a sudden, even though Zolf then looks at them when he opens his eyes. 

They very nearly blurt out, “Can I congratulate you on the engagement now?” but they manage to bite their tongue at the last moment. They care a lot about these two now, and they will definitely deal with that at a not now time, they aren’t going to mess with this new, potentially fragile thing. So they meet Zolf’s eyes, look at the bead around his beard, and raise their eyebrows. Zolf gives a slight shake of his head. 

Cel can’t decide if they want to laugh or shake the two of them. They have a job to do, so they won’t do either. But they’ve lived long enough to know when things are changing for them, and whatever is next, it will be a Thing. For now, that’s enough, especially considering what an interesting puzzle they all make. 


End file.
